


Loneliness Is a State of Mind

by youshallnotfinditso



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Neil Perry Lives, discussion of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 13:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13055109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youshallnotfinditso/pseuds/youshallnotfinditso
Summary: It wasn't even that he'd been trying to be the hero. If he had been, maybe the virtue of Doing The Right Thing could've held him over. But he wasn't Superman, or the Lone Ranger or Jesus or whoever. He was just the dumbass who got himself expelled and Mr. Keating fired by ratting out his best friend.





	Loneliness Is a State of Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [storm_queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_queen/gifts).



It was like yanking a reel of film out, the way everything had come at him so fast and then just stopped, jammed into place by his own rotten luck.

Charlie couldn't even consciously remember deciding to betray Neil. One minute everything was peachy — everyone enjoying themselves, laughing; the night had been nice — the next, he was looking at Neil's face through the car window like he was being shuffled off to an execution, and something in his body just flew into action.

There had been no concern over harm to his person when it came to leaping in front of Mr. Perry's car. And no restraint when it came to a frenzied litany of "You're killing him! You're _killing_ him, don't you see that?" It was like trust meant nothing, the way he'd opened up and cashed in everything he'd heard about the revolver in Mr. Perry's study, the way Neil fantasized about it with near-religious reverence.

The double-edged expression of shock and fury on Neil's face stayed frozen in Charlie's mind with picture-perfect clarity.

It wasn't even that he'd been trying to be the hero. If he had been, maybe the virtue of Doing The Right Thing could've held him over. But he wasn't Superman, or the Lone Ranger or Jesus or whoever. He was just the dumbass who got himself expelled and Mr. Keating fired by ratting out his best friend. He'd just wanted to hang on to Neil a little longer and lost him anyway.

"I think he's coming back next term," Steven reported dutifully over the phone. "Todd hasn't been assigned a new roommate like Cameron has."

"Great, Meeks. That's just great. I can do so much with that information, well done."

But it was actually kind of nice that Steven would call. Nice on the same level as getting a thank-you card from a second cousin, sure — Charlie could just imagine Steven penning down 'Call Charlie' on his to-do list between 'Ask mom for cab fare' and 'Fold clean shirts' — but it broke up the daily monotony of avoiding his mother's invitations to neighborhood luncheons and being assigned various household tasks to keep him busy.

"Now, I understand this is a very natural stage for young men to go through," his father had declared on the long drive home from Welton. An implied _Not that I ever participated in such foolishness myself_ was left hanging. "And I don't believe a word of that Nolan fellow's histrionics about cult-like behavior emerging, but it worries me that you wouldn't think about how your actions reflect back to our family. People will talk, Charlie, have you thought about that?"

"I will now, I guess," he'd said, and left it at that. 

His mother fussed. It was natural, he supposed, for her to cast about for someone else to blame and latch onto Keating. She tried to pry more out of him, finding ample opportunity now that he had nothing to do but sit in the house, but there just weren't words to tell her 'the idea of putting one foot in front of the other gets so unbearable sometimes it makes me want to die, makes my friends want to die, we all sit in the woods and fantasize about death because it's easier than living.'

The woman who normally did the cooking and household chores had been let go a year or so ago, as Mrs. Dalton claimed that with no children in the house she was in need of something to alleviate her overwhelming boredom. Charlie polished silverware while she planned the weekend menu, dusted shelves while she phoned various school administrations to discuss between-term enrollment. He spent dinner dodging questions, meeting his mother's concern with noncommittal hums and waiting for Steven to call again.

"I _wish_ my biggest problem right now was just putting the dishes away, let me tell you. If you're that bored, can I read you out my history essay?"

"Sure thing, if you're trying to go down a letter grade."

Charlie could hear Steven huffing out an annoyed breath, could practically _see_ his nostrils flaring.

"Bullshit, you've always been good at essays. I can remember the facts easy enough, but nobody here can string a story together better than you do."

There was an easy confidence behind everything Steven said, something Charlie with his forceful bravado had tried and failed to emulate for years. It was the reason Charlie had been drawn to Steven in the first place — the reason Charlie had kissed him in the library just a few months ago, when Steven had replied to Charlie's rant about the lack of girls at Welton causing unbearable sexual frustration with a casual, "not necessarily."

It couldn't last, of course. Not with Charlie's track record.

"But hey, since you haven't got any essays to worry about you could always write to Neil," Steven said, forging ahead like he wasn't trampling all over Charlie's wounds in the process.

"He doesn't want to hear from me."

"Maybe not now, but he will." There was an infuriating certainty to his voice, a tone that came off less and less like confidence and more like conceit.

"What the fuck would you know about it? It's not like you've ever cared enough to get upset at someone, you don't have any _idea_ how this works."

As if to prove Charlie right, Steve didn't hang up on him, didn't raise his voice, didn't even argue back. "I'll let you go then, if you're gonna need some time to collect yourself," he said in a brittle tone before making Charlie be the one to end the call.

It was several days before Steven finally called again — which, hey, props to him for finally doing something mean-spirited for once in his life. Charlie almost hadn't answered, having had his hopes dashed more than once by neighbors asking for his mother.

"I _cried_ when they kicked you out, you know," was the first thing Charlie heard as soon as he put the phone to his ear. "It was humiliating. My face was all puffy and everyone stared at me the whole way back to my room from Nolan's office."

Charlie couldn't breathe for a minute.

"Maybe I'm bad at— I don't know, I'm not like you, bold declarations don't really come naturally to me. But I thought it was obvious, Charlie. I'm fucking nuts about you, I have been for _so_ long."

"I'm sorry," Charlie managed to grate out at long last.

"For which part?"

"For saying you didn't have feelings, but I guess also for your bad taste."

"I'll have you know my taste is exceptional, and highly selective," Steven corrected, and Charlie could just picture the rigid set of his shoulders, the way he'd be adjusting his glasses to sit just right. "You're the bravest person I know, alright? What you did for Neil— you didn't even hesitate. He's lucky to have you, even if it's hard for him to see that right now."

It was almost a physical ache, the extent to which Charlie had needed to hear those words.

"If I wrote," he started, the words coming out slowly, "could I mail Neil's letters to you? So you could wait and give them to him at the right time?"

"Yeah," Steven said gently. "Yeah, I could do that."

Charlie cupped the phone close, like if he pressed into it with enough care he'd be able to reach through to Steven on the other end. 

"I miss you," he said.

Steven's exhale crackled across the line. "I miss you, too."

Charlie still had the phone pressed to his ear when his mother walked in, the dial tone humming softly like a living thing.

"Everything alright, dear?" She asked, and Charlie nodded, slipping on an easy smile as he hung up the phone.

"That was Steven Meeks, from school," he offered, no longer in the mood to come up with a lie. "He thought I should write to Neil."

"I think that'd be nice," she said, tentatively reaching out to grip his shoulder for just a moment.

"Yeah," Charlie agreed. "I think that'd be nice, too."


End file.
